


Nature Breaks Through The Eyes Of The Cat

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Eldritch, Friendship, Gen, Minor Character Death, Monsters, POV Matt Murdock, Pets, Pre-Slash, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28456332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Prompt: [Myths and legends in Hell's Kitchen]Matt befriends an ancient monster and doesn't realise it.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53
Collections: DDE’s 2021 New Year’s Day Exchange





	Nature Breaks Through The Eyes Of The Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StripedScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/gifts).



Matt never was a fan of animals. He didn’t hate them, not at all. Dogs were sweet, and he admired the nonchalant independence of cats. But the truth is, he was rarely in the vicinity of animals, so he’d never developed an appreciation for them.

Jack Murdock didn’t keep any pets and after Matt lost his sight, he was relieved that there were no musky pups or moulting cats to deal with. Everything generates sensory information, smells and sounds and the physical weight of existence. Animals stink, they make a mess, they take up room and their actions can’t be predicted. If there’s one thing he hated, it was unpredictable beings. So, no pets for Matt Murdock.

* * *

There was something following him. He strode through the streets, his hands balled into fists and his jaw clenched. He knew there was a target painted on his back. _The New York Bulletin_ were constantly publishing articles about Daredevil, and the NYPD were asking Clinton residents to call a helpline if they had any information pertaining to the mysterious vigilante who stalked the neighbourhood. Matt slowly released a breath and ground to a halt. He was standing outside a business he recognised, a thrift shop run by one of Foggy’s mother’s friends. He knew there was an adjacent alleyway, and he heard something dash past him, stirring the air, and dart into the narrow gap between the walls.

Matt parted his lips, tasted the air. Something rich and earthy, something new. It reminded him of playing in the park as a boy, sitting cross-legged on tickly grass, digging his nails into the sod and overturning dirt. It had fascinated him, the way insects would crawl to the surface, pink, wriggling worms and tiny, scuttling woodlice and beetles. There was a whole world beneath his feet, a dark burrow with a bustling population of hard-shelled or slimy inhabitants. Whatever — _whoever_ — was in that alleyway, they smelt like fresh dirt and the outdoors. They didn’t smell like Hell’s Kitchen.

He stepped closer, his boots virtually silent on the sidewalk. Whatever they were planning, he was ready. He brushed a hand against his cowl, felt that it was buckled securely and stepped inside.

* * *

He gasped, and that sweet-smelling earthy scent flooded his nostrils. Whatever they were (there was no way that this thing was human), they were huge. They took up so much space, disturbing the air, filling his world and he could feel the weight of their gaze. He thought of fearsome fangs and diamond-hard scales, monsters from the cheesy horror movies his dad used to watch. But no, this was ridiculous, he shouldn’t be afraid. This entity was trespassing in Matt’s city, they should fear _him,_ not the other way around.

“Who are you?” he said, and his voice sounded steady. He could hear his own pattering heart and he prayed the creature lacked his own extraordinary sense of hearing. “Whatever you are, you have to leave. I’m not warning you twice.”

The creature loomed up, and he heard the stale air hit waves of rippling fur. Claws scraped on the concrete.

“Meow,” said the beast.

Matt paused.

* * *

A cat. A stupid, tiny cat. It was now joyfully squirming between his ankles, a shivery, excitable thing, wriggling like a hooked fish. Matt jerked back, but the cat followed, pawing at his calves with its fluffy paws.

“Are you lost?” he asked it and he didn’t recognise the crooning timber of his voice. Damn, apparently, that’s a universal thing: even people who aren’t animal fans devolve into that clumsy baby talk when confronted with one of these furry things. “Do you have an owner?”

The cat mewled balefully, and Matt, for some reason, hunkered down and scooped it up. It jiggled about in his arms and gleefully rubbed its head against his chin. His lips reluctantly quirked into a grin. It was kind of endearing, this affectionate little creature.

“Come on,” he told it. “I’m taking you home.”

* * *

He couldn’t keep the cat. Firstly, his apartment didn’t allow pets (which he was grateful for, because his neighbours stank enough, as it was) and secondly, he didn’t want a cat, he had no resources or knowledge of how to care for one, he — he needed Foggy and Karen. They’d know what to do.

But it was the middle of the night and he didn’t need to hone in on their relaxed, resting heartbeats to know that his two friends were currently fast asleep in their respective apartments. It could wait until the morning. So, he crept into his apartment, divested himself of his armoured clothes and fed the cat a bit of tinned salmon and poured water into a bowl. He didn’t love the idea of the cat shedding hair everywhere, but he felt it would be inhumane to have the poor thing sleep on the floor, so he dumped it on the couch and left it to sleep.

In the morning, he awoke to a hot, heavy weight on his chest and a sour fish-breath wafting in his face. Matt sighed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

“Well, does it have a collar or something?” Foggy’s voice was distorted by the tinny speaker, and there was a lot of noise pollution — passers-by and the jingling of Foggy’s keys. Matt pressed his cell closer to his ear.

“No, I don’t think so. Its fur is very soft, feels healthy. I don’t know if its a stray.”

“Do you know how old it is? Can, you, I don’t know, smell it or hear its innards or something?”

Matt smiled to himself. “It doesn’t work that way. It smells…” He automatically sniffed, and the cat shifted on his lap. Fresh, wet earth and…something hot and metallic. He hadn’t noticed it last night, with the cool breeze flattening the scent, but…yeah.

“It smells like dirt and metal.”

“Poor thing,” Foggy tutted. “I’ll come over and have a look at him. I know a guy who’s a vet, we can take your new roommate to get checked over. He might be microchipped. Is it a he or a she?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t checked. Foggy, I’m not really a —”

“Duh, you’re not an animal man, I know. Look, I’ll be there in a few. Try not to take in any more waifs and strays until I get there, okay?”

“I took _you_ in,” Matt joked, and Foggy laughed. The phone clicked as he hung up.

* * *

Foggy arrived, bathed in the fresh scent of roasted coffee grounds and sugary icing. He handed Matt a polystyrene cup of coffee and a doughnut, and sauntered into the living room to inspect the cat.

“Okay, let’s see the critter,” Foggy said, muffled by the mouthful of his chocolate doughnut. “It might be an exotic breed, we should check for — oh my God!”

Matt abandoned his coffee and bolted after his friend, listening out for Foggy’s heartbeat.

His friend’s heart was racing, staccato thumps like a round of bullets. Matt drew closer, discreetly laid a hand on Foggy’s shoulder to feel—

Sweat was beading on his temples, and pooling down his back. Sour, sickly fear-sweat. In every cell of his body, Foggy was panicking. Matt heard the wild swishing of the blood in his friend’s veins and he instinctively leapt in front him, trying to triangulate where the threat was coming from.

“What? What is it? Foggy?”

“What the fuck—” Foggy’s voice was a pained thread, gossamer-light. “Is _that?_ ”

His pointing finger was aimed straight at—

“That’s the cat. The one from last night.”

The cat made a questioning _**mrowr?**_ and Foggy hesitated.

His tongue made an audible squelch as it unstuck from the roof of his jaw. His hand dropped limply to his side and to Matt’s alarm, he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“Yeah,” Foggy said faintly. “That’s the cat. Of _course_ …that’s a cat… why did I think it was…?”

“I think you should sit down, come on, with me—” He tried to guide Foggy to the couch but Foggy sank down to the floor instead. Matt dropped to his knees beside him but Foggy was still somewhat alert, sitting up and chuckling to himself.

“Oh, Matt, what’s up with me? I don’t even — hehe — sorry, I don’t — I—”

“Buddy, you’re scaring me,” Matt said quietly, laying a hand on Foggy’s chest. Foggy’s heart was still thumping about like a boot falling down the stairs, but the sour sweat was cooling on his skin, and he leant into Matt’s touch.

“It’s a pretty cat, Matty. Hey. Matt-Cat. Do you like cats, Matt? You don’t, do you?”

Matt felt for Foggy’s pulse and then ran his hands along his friend’s face, but Foggy wasn’t slurring his words and he didn’t appear to be having spasms or numbness or anything that might indicate a stroke. But, he was babbling like a drunkard, laughing and grandly describing the cat to him with words that frankly, didn’t make sense.

“She likes you, Matt. She likes the apartment. She’s cuuuute. Sort of black and brown and red and no, she’s gone back to white again. No, she’s bluey-grey, definitely. With these little splodges of…eternity.”

“Eternity?”

“I mean, grey. She says it's the colour of human despair, Matt.”

“Right. Um, could you — do you think you can stand by yourself? I think you should lie in my bed.”

Foggy replied but he didn’t seem to be addressing Matt. “No, it’s not like that. He means he wants me to have a nap. You know, like a cat nap? Trust me, he doesn’t like me like that. He has a lot of girlfriends, Terramalum.”

“Terra…malum?”

“That’s her name, Matty.”

Matt frowned. “You’re naming the cat? I haven’t even agreed to keep it. I was going to take it — her— to a shelter. We’re not keeping the cat, Foggy!”

We. As if they were an item. More than friends. Matt had a sudden fanciful notion of what it would be like to cohabit with Foggy, make decisions about their living spaces together, as a team, as…something more than what they currently were. Which was—

“Friends,” Foggy was saying. “Sure, I’ll be friends with you. Your friends are all dead? That sucks, I’m sorry, Mal.”

After a few more words of near-nonsense, Matt was finally able to coax Foggy to his bedroom. He helped him step out of his shoes and jacket, and let him fall asleep. He just hoped Foggy was a bit over-tired and not suffering from something more serious.

* * *

‘Mal’ was hiding under the couch when Foggy awoke, an hour later. Matt had spent that time pacing around his living room, anxiously wondering whether he’d made Foggy worse by insisting he sleep. He should have called Claire.

Mal had inspected every edge of the apartment (although she’d avoided the bedroom where Foggy was tucked up and snoring) and now, she was curled up on the floor. Matt could feel her beneath the couch, the sluggish twitch of her tail as she ventured into sleep. At least, Mal wasn’t like those over-energised cats that climb on counters and scratch walls.

Foggy shuffled into the room, his socked feet dragging on the floor, and Matt had to repress the urge to spring up and hug him.

“Are you okay?” he asked him, urgently.

Foggy deliberated before responding. “Yeah, I think so. I felt a bit dizzy earlier… I imagine I wasn’t making much sense? But I’d skipped breakfast, so maybe I was just hungry?”

“I can make you something to eat,” Matt offered. He shrugged off Foggy’s exasperated scoff, and clarified with, “I can _order_ you something to eat.”

“No, I should probably go home. I feel kind of… Ah, it’s nothing. I had a weird dream when I was sleeping just now. I probably should go home and have an early night.”

“Well… okay,” Matt said reluctantly. He wished he could make him stay, but Foggy wouldn’t appreciate Matt clucking over him like a mother hen. “Oh, if you feel up to it, you can come over tomorrow and see Mal?”

“Who?” Foggy said blankly.

Matt didn’t reply.

* * *

Matt waved Foggy off and then called Karen.

He wasn’t above calling for help — as long as he was calling on behalf of somebody else and not himself. He explained about Foggy’s dizzy spell and she promised to keep an eye on him. He didn’t mention Foggy’s delirious remarks about Matt’s dating life. He suspected that those comments weren’t intended for his ears, and certainly not Karen’s.

He prepared an evening meal for himself and set down another bowl for Mal. His new guest greedily devoured tuna flakes and then camped out on the couch, attempting to knead the leather with its tiny claws. Matt sat down next her, and petted her absently, inwardly cursing her addictively-fluffy fur. She felt so nice to touch, soft fur that radiated warmth like a living hot water bottle.

“You sleep a lot, don’t you?” he said as she slumped into his caress. Her quiet purr was a continuous rumble, an unobtrusive sound like the drone of a ceiling fan.

She rests forever. The thought popped into his head, but it was true. She was a rather lazy cat, sprawled out on the couch like this. She’d slept on his chest last night, she’d dozed under the couch, and now she was curled up on the couch, not quite asleep but relaxed and mellow. She likes Matt’s couch better than the pit.

Matt paused, his hand ceasing its repetitive strokes and Mal poked her head up. She gently butted his hand and Matt resumed his stroking. He wasn’t sure where that thought had come from. But Mal’s fur felt so delightfully silky under his fingers, like the softest blanket and he thought he could sit here forever and stroke her. He listened to the ambient sounds of Hell’s Kitchen, the metallic clang of shopkeepers pulling their shutters closed, the slam of car doors. People were finishing up at work and heading home. He’d have to go patrolling the streets when the sun went down. But he’d sit here for a little while and stoke Mal’s fur.

* * *

Matt awoke with a start. He was still on the couch, but the air smelt different through the open window. He could hear the muted buzz of the streetlamps and he knew it was nighttime. Guiltily, he stood up, and stretched, making the bones in his back click. How long had he been dozing? His hand throbbed with pain and he flexed it, bent the fingers and then straightened them. It was a worse pain than the hand cramp he’d had during finals week. Mal was silent as a grave, but her body threw out an aura of heat, reassuring and steady. She was sleeping. Had he — had he been stroking her fur in his sleep? It would explain the cramp.

Matt suited up — with difficulty. His right hand was still aching and he wished he could skip patrol and sleep it off. But he had a responsibility to his neighbourhood, so he begrudgingly got dressed and snuck out of his window.

Throwing one leg over the window sill felt almost physically painful. He couldn’t leave Mal. She didn’t want him to go. She _needed_ him. He could feel her watching him. She’d awoken and followed him to the bedroom, perched on the bed as he opened his window. He shouldn’t leave. He should make her some nice food and give her a bowl of water and pet her fur with his big human hand and then everything would be alright. The other humans would be okay for one night, they didn’t need him. He should close the window, he’s letting the cold in.

 _No._ This was — he couldn’t — he had to leave. Now. He threw himself out of the window and scaled down the fire escape, leaving a heartbroken yowl behind him.

Stupid cat.

* * *

Matt was distracted all night. His punches missed, his kicks didn’t connect, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched. He took as many hits as he gave and when a thug hit him with a lucky stab, he fell and didn’t get back up.

Matt lay there, flat on his back, winded. Blinked back cold night air, wincing at the hot jagged shards of pain licking at his ribs. He knew there was something he should do, to stop the blood flow or clot the blood or…something. But all he could do was lie here and hear the guy lean over him, that knife dangling over Matt’s chest like the damned sword of Damocles. Is this how it ends? So much time, so many fights and he bleeds out in a filthy alleyway, killed by some thief who got a lucky hit?

But then, he smells it. Something rich and wet, like overturned soil. The knife drops harmlessly to the ground, right by Matt’s arm. The thief, just a boy, really, turns to run but Something is there, big and wide and filling up the alley and a terrible sound pierces the air.

Matt’s attacker is screaming, a wide, jaw-splitting shriek of fear, one that makes spittle fly and his teeth wobble in their gums. The boy’s heart pounds and adrenaline rushes through his blood but the boy doesn’t move — he’s rooted to the spot. And finally, his heart picks up, a frantic scampering, so thick and wet in his chest and it gives one final splutter and… the boy falls to the ground like a felled tree.

Matt lies there, his head swimming but he’s hazy with shock and the mist in his head dulls the pain. There’s something on his stomach, a lovely warm weight, a small bundle of heat and softness. And then a rough wet tongue is licking his ribs where his suit is torn. It licks blood off his flesh and every rasping drag of the flat tongue makes heat bloom on his skin, and he can’t even feel the slightest tingle of pain. He can’t smell his own spilt blood. He feels… He feels okay. Maybe this is what death is like. No pain.

* * *

When he opens his eyes, he's lying on scratchy cotton sheets and the brief movement of his shoulders make scent flurry off the pillow. _Foggy._ He instinctively knows that he’s in Foggy’s bed.

He lies there for a few minutes, letting the sounds of the world seep in through the muzzy cloud of sleep.

“Hey, buddy,” Foggy’s voice is low and softly-concerned. Matt smiles groggily.

“Hey. I don’t remember falling asleep here.”

“Yeah, you collapsed during your patrol. Somebody attacked you, Matt. Um, your cat showed up at my apartment. She was acting like she wanted me to follow her. I don’t remember getting to the alley, my head felt a bit weird. But we got there and I saw you. You were lying on the ground in your DD suit and there was — a boy.”

Matt sat up abruptly and Foggy pushed him down. He could have stopped him, but Foggy’s hands felt good on his shoulders and hell, Matt was bone-tired. He slumped back down. “There was a thief. We got into it. He stabbed me and he — he saw something and he just — keeled over.”

“He was dead, Matt. I didn’t touch him, I didn’t want to leave fingerprints. I pulled you out of there and took you home. I called the police afterwards, anonymous tip-off. I didn’t want the cops to get there and see Daredevil lying with a dead body. It was… It was scary.”

“He saw something and he was so terrified, he had a heart attack,” Matt stated and Foggy’s hands fluttered nervously on Matt’s arm. “It was a creature. It licked me. My ribs.”

“Yeah, I saw your suit was all torn-up. There’s a scar, but it doesn’t look fresh. It looks like its healing, like you got it a few days ago.”

Matt must have looked confused because Foggy’s hands guided his own to the wound. Matt’s chest was bare, he noted, and he felt clean, and smelt of antiseptic. Foggy — or Claire — must have washed his chest. But Foggy was right. The wound was a scar, still puffy and tender, but not the gaping hole it had been last night.

Foggy was hovering by the bed and Matt knew he wanted to say something. He waited a few seconds, and then Foggy said, “I’m not — you know, I don’t really approve of what you do. I mean, I do approve. I know why you do it. But, I hate that you get hurt. I hate that I can’t stop you from doing this and I hate that _other people_ get hurt as well and — I’m just really glad that you’re okay.”

His words, a tumbling rush of emotion, left Matt more winded than last night's knife. He opened his mouth to answer him, but felt like words might not be as effective as —

“Oh, are we hugging now?” Foggy said, bemused, for Matt had thrown his arms around him. His ribs still ached, but it was a mildly-nagging pang, not the spiking flames of agony that it had been last night. Foggy hugged him, and Matt hugged back and he saw no reason to let go of the man, until Foggy started squirming because his phone was chiming.

“Sorry, I got to take this,” Foggy told him, extracting his phone from his jeans pocket with difficulty. “I called Karen last night, told her what happened. She wants to know how you’re doing. You don’t mind?”

“No, no. Go.” Matt shooed him away, and as soon as Foggy stepped out of the room, something crawled out from under Foggy’s bed.

“Were you hiding from Foggy?” Matt asked Mal as she leapt onto the bed.

_**Mal makes humans’ brains break. Mal doesn’t want to hurt Matt’s friend.** _

“When he first saw you, he became confused. It was like he was drunk. And he had bad dreams. But once you were hidden and he couldn’t see you, he was fine.”

Mal butted Matt’s hand and he rubbed her ears.

_**Is Matt angry with Mal?** _

“No, I’m not angry. You followed me last night. You scared that thief to death. You healed me. Why?”

_**Matt is Good Human. Mal didn’t mean to hurt Bad Human. Mal was scared. Mal came to say goodbye.** _

“You’re saying goodbye? Where are you going?”

_**Back home. Into the pit. For sleep.** _

“For how long?”

Mal made a strange, jerky gesture that on a human, would be classified as a shrug.

“You should know, I’m not really an animal person, Mal. But then, you’re not really an animal, are you?”

_**Mal will miss Matt.** _

The thing-that-was-not-his-pet licked Matt’s chin and he smiled. “For an unholy horror, you’re very snuggly. Now, stop squirming and I’ll tell Foggy to get us both some food.”


End file.
